


For Ailments of Any Kind

by lentranced



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Aftercare, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Post-Black Eagles Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Post-Fire Emblem: Three Houses, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:54:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23466466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lentranced/pseuds/lentranced
Summary: Ever the busy bee, newly appointed Prime Minister Ferdinand von Aegir works himself silly. Fortunately, his wife, Dorothea, is with him every step of the way to make sure he takes a much-needed day off.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Dorothea Arnault
Comments: 3
Kudos: 62





	For Ailments of Any Kind

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Parker! 
> 
> You can find me on twitter @macedon_prince <3

Never did Ferdinand von Aegir think he would be overwhelmed with papers.

Even now, he's was doubtful. This isn't too much, no, he's simply tired. It had been a long day today.

And the day before that, and before that.

Ferdinand rakes a hand through his hair. Goddess, it had been only a week, and yet it had felt like months.

He drags his hand down his forehead, over his eyes and along the length of his nose, pausing at his chin when Dorothea clears her throat from behind him.

"Getting lost again, Ferdie?" she asks, and Ferdinand vehemently shakes his head in response.

"Not at all!" he says. "Although, there certainly are a great many challenges to address, as Prime Minister, and all of them take time and energy. I would like to make sure I give everything the time it deserves. That is my duty, after all."

Dorothea picks up a completed stack of paperwork off his overcrowding desk before it falls to the carpet. She neatly arranges them and slips them into the drawer where they belong.

"But what about the time you deserve?" she asks, closing the drawer shut. "You at least owe that to yourself too, don't you?"

Ferdinand manages a laugh, its edges crimped with exhaustion that he hopes don't translate to his face. Though he knows Dorothea knows him better than that.

"I do greatly appreciate your help, Dorothea," he says. "You are taking time out for me, and that means a lot. Truly."

"We haven't really been able to celebrate your new position. You've been so busy..."

Ferdinand nods, skimming another form as he does. Her words barely process, until Dorothea puts her hands on his shoulders and leans close, the tip of her nose brushing against a stray lock of his hair.

"I think it's time you took a break, you busy bee," she says. Her breath tickles his earlobe, and Ferdinand stiffens for a moment, feeling the heat rise up along his neck and face in waves, before dissipating.

He wonders if she noticed, and then he thinks, of course she did.

"I cannot," he blurts out, spreading his arms wide to encompass the entire office area. "There is a lot of work that remains, and what is left is clear as day."

"Taking a break doesn't mean you won't return to it," Dorothea says. "You know you'll only wear yourself out like this, don't you, Ferdie?"

She's absolutely right and he knows it.

"Very well," he says, and the defeat is apparent on his face now. "I will take a break, but I am doing this for you, Dorothea. I must return to work soon."

Dorothea shakes her head, a small smile on her lips. "Don't you start worrying about that already."

With both hands on Ferdinand's shoulders, Dorothea leads the exhausted prime minister out of his study. His eyelids begin to feel heavy as soon as he and Dorothea cross the threshold.

\---

The night passes by like it's nothing. When Ferdinand opens his eyes, it's to the streaks of sun dragging across the foot of his bedsheets. The space next to him is vacant, Dorothea's side of the bed made as though she hadn't been there all night.

Though, surely she had been, he could remember her leading him into the room.. or could he? It was all so fuzzy.

Ferdinand sits up and pushes the hair out of his eyes, gathering himself before pushing the blankets aside. He knows what early morning looks like, and by the look of the sunlight slipping through the slits between the curtains, it is _not_ morning anymore.

Just how long had he been sleeping anyways?

The soft click of the door catches his attention, and he turns to see Dorothea step in. She's like a slow summer breeze. He can't seem to ever have enough of her, really.

"You're awake," she says, smiling effortlessly. She's warmer than the midday sun. "You were so fast asleep, I thought it'd be best to let you sleep in. It _is_ your day off, after all."

"Yes, but... what time is it, Dorothea?" Ferdinand asks as his wife approaches him.

She pushes his hair to the side and kisses his forehead. Her body is so close, the heat radiating from her skin, her smile, her lips against his skin. He's still sleepy, and perhaps today, he can permit himself to bathe in it.

"Mm... just the middle of the afternoon," she says against him. With a deep inhale and a moment of thought, she continues. "Around three, I think."

Ferdinand turns cold under her then, his body tensing, but Dorothea's quick, and her hands are on his shoulders to relax him almost instantaneously.

"I got us seats," she says, her voice soft like a feather. "At the opera tonight. I thought it would be good to help you unwind, and also to celebrate your becoming prime minister."

Ferdinand doesn't object. As Dorothea had assured him the night before, taking a break would be best for him. And with her by his side, head on his shoulder, he feels more at ease than he has in what feels like far too long.

He doesn't say it, but it echoes in his sleepy thoughts. However the rest of the evening will go, he knows he will have a great time with his wife by his side.

\---

_His wife._

What a powerful phrase.

Ferdinand is dressed well enough, but it's Dorothea that he's focused on. They're in their dressing room, and once Dorothea is done fixing up her hair, she reaches for the back of her dress before gesturing to him.

"Ferdie," she says, turning to face him. Her bare back is reflected in the dressing table's mirror, the skin flawless, shoulder blades sharp and elegant, just like the rest of her.

"Could you help me with the back of my dress?" Dorothea finishes.

Her back is to him now, and in his hands are silky red laces. Slowly, Ferdinand threads them through the eyelets, working his way up. The fabric of his gloves feels incredibly intrusive, so thick, despite being a fine, thin material.

For those sparse moments, it feels as though the world is nothing but him and his wife, his fingers brushing against her soft, sloping shoulders as he tightens the laces and finishes up with an elegant and neat looking tie.

When he moves his hands away, and a part of him doesn't want to, really, Dorothea turns and gives him that smile again.

"I can always count on you, can't I?" she says.

Ferdinand smiles back. He can't help the massive grin on his face; Dorothea's smile is contagious.

"Your beauty is always so effortless," Ferdinand says, kissing her forehead as she laughs warmly in response.

That is the first of many kisses they sneak, back and forth as they leave thedressing room and walk down the hall and to the front gates, and by that time, Ferdinand and Dorothea are walking side by side with their arms linked.

And every time he glances as his wife, her radiance rivals that of the full moon perched in the evening sky.

The opera house is not unfamiliar to Ferdinand, but it is rare for him to be here to see a performance, and never before has he had Dorothea in the audience with him.

"It'll be nice," Dorothea says as they find their seats, "to see what you see from the audience for once, with you."

Ferdinand's face lights up, and before they sit down, he's clasping both of Dorothea's hands. The way his eyes crinkle and reflect the lights leaves Dorothea's breath caught in her throat.

"Thank you, Dorothea," he says. "I was so overwhelmed with my new position, I did not think to take some time to be with you in a place we both love."

Dorothea laughs and raises her arms. Ferdinand kisses the backs of her hands, first the left and then the right, with fleeting, tender kisses. They're so quick and airy, Dorothea might as well have imagined them.

The two settle down in their seats. The lights dim, and Dorothea leans her weight against Ferdinand's. His hands are placed squarely on his knees, eyes directed towards the stage.

The music begins to swell, gentle, plucky strings making way for boisterous brass as the actors start to walk across the stage in intricate costumes.

Ferdinand's eyes are focused on the stage, the dashing lordlike figure in the spotlight, his voice captivating the audience.

Pressed against him, in the dark of their box seats, is Dorothea. She is as focused on the play as he is, their arms linked, sides pressed together.

Ferdinand can feel Dorothea's breath against his cheek. Every soft inhale and exhale brings a sort of peace to his heart, and to have her so close to him in this moment feels like a blessing and a responsibility.

She shifts. The music turns, the story spiralling downward into its tragical elements. As Ferdinand's gaze walks the stage alongside the actors, he feels Dorothea's eyes climb up along his pant leg, slow and meandering, as though she were hovering over a dining table with too many delicious options to pick from.

He doesn't bristle, but it pulls his gaze away. When he looks at her, she meets his eyes and smiles. Her eyes twinkle like candles, slow and intimate flames.

"Liking the play?" She asks, taking in a deep breath as she ends the question. Her palm is splayed flat on his thigh, and with each breath, she leisurely opens and closes her hand, dragging her fingers along the cloth of his pants.

The play, _yes_ , and what about what she's doing? Her own sort of play, really.

"Er... yes, Dorothea!" Ferdinand's voice is a low whisper. Notes of panic slip through. He can't deny the heat pooling in his cheeks, trailing down into his stomach, and then –

The music stops.

An actor on the stage yells his line.

Dorothea kisses the crook between Ferdinand's jaw and earlobe.

Oh, goddess.

He feels out of place now, every muscle in his body glazed in a low and unrelenting heat.

His pants feel... tighter, certainly. The lovely heat begins to mingle with panic.

Ferdinand grabs both of Dorothea's hands. Both of them, plastered perfectly, strategically, against his body.

And her leg too, her warm thigh pressed against his...

"Dorothea, I..." Ferdinand tongue trips over itself. "That is... Not right now, please."

There is understanding in his wife's eyes. She smiles, and Ferdinand's eyes are hooked on the perfect turn of her lips. The plunge of her neckline.

He swallows.

"Of course, Ferdie," and Dorothea pulls her hands back to herself, poised and beautiful.

But not before kissing him once more, a slow but burning peck on his cheek.

\---

The play seems to drag on forever. The plot blurs itself in Ferdinand's mind, his focus on the arousal that _still_ somehow remains, stiff and throbbing.

Dorothea's touches and kisses seemed to linger on him.

As they exit and return to their horse, Ferdinand helps Dorothea up before mounting the horse himself. They take a back road to the estate, and once the lights of the city are in the distance, Dorothea wraps her arms around Ferdinand's torso.

"The orchestra did such a wonderful job, don't you think?" she asks, pressing her chest against his back.

She knows. Of course she knows, and if she somehow doesn't, then certainly, she can feel his heartbeat and his rising body temperature.

The answer escapes him with a great exhale.

"Yes!" he says, all too aware of his wife's lovely, ample chest, and the increased stiffening in his pants as a result. "Dorothea, must you really..."

She presses her face into his neck and mutters, "I've waited all evening, you know. And what a long evening it was."

They're silent then, and Ferdinand lets her touches map his chest like constellations in the dark sky above. He's aware that she's aware, they are both all too aware of how he feels, and then, as though she is reading his mind, her hands cup his face.

"You're so warm," she whispers into his shoulder. "And so restless too, aren't you?"

He doesn't need to respond. Not with the way she's kissing his jaw. Ferdinand's hands tighten around the reins of their mount.

When they arrive at the manor, the night air is still. The chirps of crickets permeate the dark, though Ferdinand can barely hear beyond the blood rushing in his ears.

They fumble in the dark, Dorothea's scent combining with her perfume, her fingers around his forearm, digging into the fabric of his sleeve ever so slightly, and perhaps too gently.

Dorothea holds onto his arm the entire time. Once they're past the entrance, her fingers grip his arm tighter, sending a rush of emotions and images through his mind.

None of them helping that erection in his pants, and by the Goddess, was he ever ready to acknowledge it now, with he and his wife moving down the corridors like shadows jumping from one pool of moonlight to the next.

"D-Dorothea," he breathes. His voice is ragged and husky.

The bedroom door feels too far away in space.

The play at the opera feels too far away in time.

The swell of his wife's breasts against his tricep, on the other hand... oh, his _hands_ , that's where they need to be.

She's so close. Hip to hip.

"You're beautiful," he manages to whisper.

In the dark, the words wrap around them like a blanket and the air seems to grow thicker.

Maybe it's just him. Maybe, but...

"Mm..." Dorothea lets out a sound, lips pressed to the corner of his mouth.

The doorknob feels so far away, but Ferdinand reaches forward. His hands feel so warm, hot enough that they could burn through his gloves.

The door is open.

Dorothea is by his side every step of the way, as he removes his gloves and begins to undress. He's slow, too slow, yet at the same time, not slow enough. Could she see the desire painted on his face, white as the moon outside?

Did it thrill her?

Her smile answers that.

"You don't have to restrain yourself anymore, Ferdie," she says.

Dorothea is down to her underwear, skin against the burning fabric of his clothes. She loosens his bottoms, and her touch lingers on his crotch.

"You know how long _I've_ been waiting, don't you?"

"Yes, Dorothea," he breathes, and as she unbuttons his shirt, he slips his arms out of it.

He's red, so, so red. His heart is pounding in his ears. Dorothea giggles against his jaw, mouth trailing along his collarbone before she sucks on the skin of his clavicle.

"I'm burning," he whispers.

It feels like the warmth of a summery night is enveloping him.

She continues to kiss. Centimetre after centimetre, she plants her soft, painted red lips against the broad expanse of his chest.

She's so close to his heart, she might as well be in it.

No, she already is. She is in his heart and she's in every part of him.

He's burning as she touches him. He's burning in the light of his wife and he's in love with it.

He's in love with her.

Despite knowing this, it still strikes him right in the heart. A sound escapes him, just as Dorothea's kisses his knuckles.

"Oh."

She meets his eyes. Soft, warm. Welcoming and more comfortable than anything this world could provide him.

"What's the matter?" She asks.

Ferdinand blinks. There's a tear in his eye, but he's not sad. No, he's anything but.

Dorothea presses her knuckle to his cheek and wipes it away.

"Nothing, Dorothea," Ferdinand replies, kissing that very knuckle. "Nothing, except for the fact that I am in love with you."

Dorothea smiles like the sun again. Ferdinand lets his kisses trail up along her arm, to her shoulder and neck. She laughs warmly as he kisses her neck and cheek, then the corner of her mouth.

"You're a lucky one then, aren't you?" Dorothea says, and their lips are barely apart. "I love you too."

In the dark, the two quickly become all kisses and caresses. Ferdinand's hair clings to the sides of his face as Dorothea covers him in kisses. She leads him to the bed and he follows, fingers tracing her hips, her breasts, and her arms.

Dorothea makes a soft sound, a little hum of satisfaction before she lays Ferdinand down on the bed. The sheets feel cool, inviting. Ferdinand feels as though he might melt into them.

His hair circles his head like a pool of orange sunlight, the lone lantern in the back of the room reflecting its dancing fire off of his locks. It's something Dorothea has commented on before.

It's something he can tell she's admiring by the way she hesitates, both of her hands on either side of his body, her face hovering so close.

The light casts a glow against the sides of her breasts. Ferdinand feels himself grow stiffer, and it's unbearable now, with how close she is.

"You're really handsome, you know," Dorothea breathes.

Ferdinand bites his lip. He would only have to shift a bit, and so he does, moving his hips ever so slightly to the left.

His cock presses against Dorothea's thigh and she hums, dragging her index finger along the length of his bicep in one long, slow motion.

"Are you excited?" She asks.

"I-Is it not obvious?" He replies.

"I love it when you're vocal, Ferdie," she croons.

Dorothea leans towards him, her dark hair a curtain, and kisses her husband on the mouth. Ferdinand's hands find their way to her breasts as he kisses back.

He pushes his hips up again. He knows she's wet, but, does he _ever_ need to feel it, to _feel_ his wife push herself down on--

Dorothea's hands rest against his inner thighs, and she lets one cup the base of his erection.

Ferdinand can't help but groan. She kisses his mouth again, taking his lower lip between her teeth and tugging on it gently. He massages her breasts.

She strokes the base of his cock the same way that she kisses him: slowly and languidly.

"D-Dorothea..." He wants to tell her that she's lovely, but where would he even start?

"Are you excited?" She asks, breath hot against his ear.

He gasps. Dorothea presses her hips down against his length.

"I'm thrilled," he manages.

Dorothea lets out a content hum in response. Her fingers reach into his thick hair and she caresses it, turning him to liquid with every move she makes.

"Wonderful."

That's all Dorothea says before wrapping a hand around his length once more and pushing herself down onto him. Ferdinand stifles a gasp, but his enthusiasm shows itself in full force as he begins thrusting up against her, almost helplessly.

Goddess, he _is_ hard and needy, and he is all too aware of this, but when he feels just how wet _she_ is, he can't think straight at all.

Dorothea goes slowly, letting him shift into a gentler rhythm. She kisses his neck and dips her body low.

Ferdinand cradles her face as she looks down at him. In between groans and gasps, he smiles.

"Dorothea," he says. "My queen... my lovely queen."

Dorothea buries her face in the crook of his neck and smiles against his skin.

"I love you, Ferdinand," she whispers, and just like that, heat prickles Ferdinand's already hot skin.

"D-Dorothea!" he exclaims.

She keeps riding him, lips pressed to his skin.

He tightens his embrace around her. Ferdinand presses his face into her hair and closes his eyes as the heat in his abdomen builds into something beyond blissful. Dorothea lets one of her own hands drop low to her clit, edging herself closer. She bites her lip and sighs against him.

"I love you too," Ferdinand whispers against her hair. "Ah..."

Dorothea gasps as she drags closer to her climax. Her eyes flutter to a close, and with a soft moan, she finishes, and Ferdinand can _feel_ her coming onto himself so strongly that he feels he may lose his mind.

His breath hitches, and Ferdinand feels himself tense up under her, and just like that, he finishes in her. Dorothea strokes his hair as they ride out their orgasm, their hips grinding up against each other. She presses kiss after kiss onto his forehead.

Ferdinand is still catching his breath when Dorothea rolls off of him, lying next to him with one arm tossed over his chest. When he looks at her, she's smiling and her eyes are sparkling in the dim light.

"Look at you," she says, curling up against him. Ferdinand grins, and some of his hair falls over his eyes.

Dorothea pushes it behind his ear and strokes his cheek. They stare at each other for a few long moments, before Dorothea starts to giggle.

"You really needed that, didn't you?" she asks. "My busy little bee was working himself sick!"

Ferdinand takes her hand off of his chest and kisses her the tips of her fingers, again and again.

"Dorothea... what would I do without you?" He asks.

She shifts closer to him, pulling Ferdinand's face close to her chest, pressing him tight against her breasts. He can feel her heartbeat.

"We don't need to entertain that question, even rhetorically," she says against the top of his head. "Because I'll always be with you, whether you're busy being prime minister or busy being mine."

Ferdinand looks up to see his wife smiling coyly.

"But you will always be mine," he says. "Whether I am working or not."

"Exactly," Dorothea says. "Whatever your troubles may be, Ferdie, you've got me."

She pauses for a moment before adding another thought, kissing his forehead once more.

"And I've got you," she whispers.

That night, Ferdinand sleeps the soundest he has in weeks.


End file.
